World

Letter from the Editor:

Hopefully, this Holiday Season finds you safe and warm with those you love and who love you. It’s at this time of year we remind ourselves that “Peace on Earth” is a lofty and worthy goal for mankind, not just some “passe” or “snowflaky” idea as some today might want to portray it. We’ve come a long way since a generation of people really took a hard look at trying to achieve this “state” and some days it seems as if those times never happened.

Being of some Middle Eastern heritage I have seen the conflicts in that region from several different angles at different times and different stages of my life. I come from a very old family with many branches and even relatives from all three major faiths.

My niece through a half sister, recently received an “Olive Wood Cross” from the Holy Land from her Dad and my neighbor’s sister recently asked me to design a necklace using one and she also gave me a cross that included a carved dove motif as a gift. I remember that it seemed odd to my neighbors that “Palestinians” made the crosses-that “Palestinians” who are “Christians” actually come from the first “Christians” in the area. The complexity of each religion jockeying for a fair shake in that society is no less than a headache at the least and a terrible tragedy at it’s worst, and of course in the end we can’t deny that of the “Three Main Faiths” the religion of the Hebrews ,”Judaism,” is the oldest of all.

While my Middle Eastern heritage has been an incredible journey filled with song and dance and socializing, some of the deepest beliefs in my soul come from my “Native American” or “First People’s” heritage through my mother. One saying, “You have to walk a mile in someone else’s moccasins,” coupled with a deep seated belief that no one can really “own the land” only God does and we are merely “stewards” of his creation seem to be more of a “bellwether” for my beliefs and conclusions. Therefore, I hope the people of the Middle East will take a look at each sides hardships and disappointments and find a way to share the land and prosper as equal citizens. In other words “Share the Moccasins and the Land.”

Josie and her Jewelry

by Aziza Al-Tawil

Josie Homonai is once again our cover model. In photos taken by her art teacher she models the “olive wood” cross from the Holy Land which was a gift from her father and also wears a selection of jewelry from India and Jordan. No matter what she is wearing Josie is a “charmer.”

Vintage Russian Christmas and New Year’s Cards

By Aziza Al-Tawil

Well maybe it’s a bizarre time to show these, since we’re unsure if our “election hack” and “collusion” problem with Russia will ever be brought to justice, but these gorgeous and amusing Christmas and New Year’s cards from Russia’s yesteryear are certainly worth a look. There was a time when “Dr. Zhivago” was my favorite epic and that snowy landscape only spelled “romance” for me. Today I would rather be in a bikini in Clearwater but – oh well – you understand! It’s interesting to note the art work in some of the cards being related to their “space exploration” as these cards were from that era. Some of the other cards are much older.

Jamila Salimpour: Some Thoughts on the Passing of a Belly Dance Legend

By Aziza Al-Tawil

Artist’s rendering of a young Jamila Salimpour in “Oriental “Garb” on the cover of a Yousef and his Baghdad Ensemble LP record.

Every now and then some individuals enter our realm bearing everything we need to accompany our journeys of self discovery. The time seems “ripe” for what they will impart and by doing so forever sketch themselves into a collective memory. When I heard Jamila Salimpour passed away a few weeks ago I was struck by several things. My immediate thoughts went to her daughter Suhaila-complete empathy-having been the daughter of a very dynamic and pioneering mother in the belly dance world also, whose death left me not only in grief but in a state of shock. “Larger than life” people are just like that: “Larger than life” so in my heart I knew that I could understand more than some what Suhaila was going through. She not only lost a mother but a dance teacher, a mentor, a friend on an intriguing journey through world cultures and the history of man. We became the women we are today because of our mothers. I know others in our realm have felt the same way including Serena’s son Scott Wilson. What fabulous “world’s” we grew up in! (In Scott’s case he was fortunate to have a very supportive father, Rip Wilson, who was as enthused over belly dancing as Serena, so it just seemed natural that Scott would become a musician also. By contrast, Suhaila’s father was against his wife and daughter dancing).

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on Jamila Salimpour. It was in the late 1970’s and my mother got a flyer from her longtime friend Ibrahim “Bobby” Farrah-there was a seminar somewhere, I believe it was at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas & Morocco was on the bill also – and I saw a dramatic close-up profile of Jamila with a stunning hairdo. My mother Johanna went back quite a ways with Bobby. When she first met him he was waiting tables in Washington, DC while attending college in P.A. He had wanted his love of his Arabic dance and Lebanese dance to be taken to another level but had been frustrated up until then with the business because NYC’s famed Greektown (8th Ave. and 29th St.) at that time did not take male dancers. He told my mother Johanna that the exhibit of photos at the University of Pennsylvania of her dance company “Johanna’s Oasis Ballet” had encouraged him to not give up – that her husband Turhan’s important role in the company proved to Bobby once and for all that “A man could make it in this business!” After having a few dance partnerships with lovelies like Dahlena and Nadina in other cities Bobby Farrah found the key to success in NYC through his magical meeting with and artistic sponsorship by the famed tobacco heiress Doris Duke in 1971. Bobby Farrah could do what he dreamed which included a dance company (“Johanna’s Oasis Ballet” had disbanded in 1966 with the break-up of her marriage to Turhan and NYC was ripe for more of this sort of thing), a magazine “Arabesque,” and presentation of workshops and seminars across the country that furthered our wonderful art form of Middle Eastern Dance.

The lovely profile photo that I remembered as the first image I ever saw of Jamila.

Also, even though “Dance Magazine” had devoted some energy to the world of “ethnic dance” in general (Johanna was the first belly dancer from Greek Town NYC to appear in that publication, shortly thereafter Morocco, when she was in “I Had a Ball” with Richard Kiley and Buddy Hackett) Bobby Farrah took things a step further with “Arabesque” – bridging a divide that existed between the two coasts-East and West-so some of us were now becoming familiar with people we might never heard of before. Now, as the ethnic venues were dying out, the classes and seminars came to the forefront. Also, the West Coast seemed to get a boost for belly dancing through their “Renaissance Fair” circuit. Jamila Salimpour, a child of Sicilian parents with a father who was stationed in North Africa took to the outdoor festival scene with much aplomb – in fact, it did not hurt that she had been inspired as a young lady to literally “run off with the circus” – “Ringling Bros.” no less – and that had to prepare her for creating the spectacle she did with “Bal Anat” the dance company she founded in 1969.

In the 2000’s, when surfing the net became popular, I once more became aware of this fascinating woman.

I began to realize through a lot of reading what some of the cultural differences were between the East and West Coasts. California and it’s warmth seemed to draw more of the “Hippie” type to the world of ethnic music presentation while even though Jamila had started herself in a nighclub scene, as things went along and the “North Beach” scene like many areas in the country was going “Topless” – Middle Eastern dancers and it’s proponents learned to take this thing to the “country” – to the “Fair.” In NYC we did have some block parties but not as many opportunities as the West Coast dancers were now seeing in the 1970’s. Another talented free spirit from that coast, Dianne Webber, was not only a belly dancer but had actually been a model for Russ Meyer and nudist colony literature.

New York City to me had seemed more like a 1950’s cocktail lounge type crowd – a tad more conservative for a much longer period of time. (I mentioned “Topless” dancing as a blow to the “Belly Dance Scene” but I should mention that the first serious threat came when “Go Go Dancing” came in to vogue – but I will never forget how shocked I was as a child to see that the “Britania” in Greektown, NYC had gone “topless.”)

Not being too outdoorsy myself, my free spirited mother Johanna, like Jamila I guess, could damn well dance anywhere and feel at home. One time a thunderstorm broke out over the rooftop terrace of the Henry Hudson Hotel where we practiced and taught classes 24 stories high. Everyone one else ran inside. My mother stayed out there a bit, like a Greek Goddess commanding the clouds themselves, then she finally came in, soaking wet. When I danced outside one time in Charleston, WV, I guess I did well, but inside my head I was so terribly uptight it makes me feel silly now to look back at it. I was a teenager and actually for a while was embarrassed to be seen by other teens while in my oriental garb, and even more “mortified” when my Mom wore her black Spanish hat around town. However, I have such fond memories of being in import shops with Johanna and her wanting to try all the ethnic instruments and bells and clappers- just all the exotic things and their tones. So, as I read more about Jamila and Suhaila, I could definitelyfeel a “sympatico.”

My mother Johanna and I by Kriegsmann NYC. I lost Johanna in 2012 so I feel Suhaila’s pain.

I, like Suhaila, was blessed to be the child of a dynamic and artistic woman. The impact they had on us could never be under-estimated I’m sure. I learned I also shared a similar “entree” into the world of belly dance. Suhaila, like me, was not indoctrinated into the world of Oriental Dance through classes. As toddlers, Suhaila and I just simply saw our mother’s performing and just got out there and showed off what we knew. Basically we just said, “Ta Da!” Of course, later I’m sure there was some coaching but to start with nothing but our own drive to “join the party.” I thought of Jamila and Johanna as a bit of “kindred spirits” – the difference being with my mother, though she raised me primarily in NYC, never really wanted to plant down roots or establish a “territory” so therefore was not much in to teaching. When she retired from dancing “pro” she was just that “retired.” (I have oft wondered what my life would have been like if we had less of the “Gypsy” in us and I just don’t know).

So, while a Swami from India set up shop leading “Hare Krishna Chants” in Tompkins Square Park in the Village and founding a movement meant to help America’s addicted and unhappy youth, through spirituality and free “Gulab Jamun” – a world away, on another shore, a woman arrived that inspired a generation of women searching for their own personal connection to the “divine.” Jamila Salimpour was beloved by her students, and of course what she instilled in her daughter and grand daughter will never fade away. My advice to Suhaila is to not think of her mother as really gone, just passed to another form, the electricity of her spirit still charged in the ether. I’m sure we will all be together one day in that hafli in heaven and oh, how the bells will ring!

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Letter from the Editor:

By Aziza Al-Tawil

It was very hard to get back into the swing of things after the devastating events of the last month or so around the world. Hurricanes Irma and Maria, the storms and flooding in Myanmar, Bangledesh, India and other parts of Asia, the heartbreaking Las Vegas massacre – and so many things – that it seemed we were just barely able to stand up from one disaster until we were “pummeled” with something else.

I’m heartbroken to report that Desideria Masheed, last year’s “October Cover Girl” was caught right in the middle of the Puerto Rican disasters-the worst of which was “Maria.” Desideria has been a tireless animal rescue advocate working closely with “Save a Gato” for most of the five years she has spent living on the Island. Her reason for going was a change of pace, to study more dance, and practice natural healing. When the economy went sour a couple of years ago she felt she had to plan to leave the island but this slipped into a “quagmire.”

Desideria enjoying a happier day before “storms” with Taino statues in Puerto Rico.

Trying to survive she was walking miles in the heat just to re-charge a phone. Meanwhile, stores like Wal-Mart started gouging people. All the while people were told at “FEMA” that they could not apply in person for help but had to do it by phone or go online (there was no electricity or internet service!) and, as the Mayor of San Juan was telling the world, food arrived to a place where people had been without food nor clean water for fourteen days and they were not allowing the “National Guard” to distribute it. The National Guard has had years of experience and they were not allowed to do what they did best leading everyone to ask “Why?”

Now, to add “insult to injury” or rather “injury to insult” our beloved Desideria was hit by a car in San Juan as she made her way to Wal-Mart for a folding table so she could vend on the boardwalk. Sadly, it took many hours to be seen by a doctor and now her foot is infected. She noted while waiting in the hospital just how many vulnerable “geriatric” patients were there.

“Egyptian Chick” magazine is trying to help Desideria who is now destitute and injured. No agencies are able to help her with anything. She just wants to come back to the mainland and needs to raise a few thousand dollars. To all who can help her we are imploring you donate what you can. As of this publication she is short of food to eat. There are two ways you can help her GoFund me campaign is here : GoFundMe to Rescue Desideria from Puerto Rico (Moving Expenses for her and her cats)

Or for more immediate help you can send to her “PayPal” at darkdeva29@gmail.com Thank you so much!

Aziza Al-Tawil, Editor in Chief

The Iranian Born “The Iron Sheik”

How I Fell in Love with Wrestling

By Aziza Al-Tawil

My grandmother’s boyfriend Mr. Felix Holmes used to pick up my Grandma and take her to the “Wrastling Matches” over at the Civic Center in Charleston, WV. There my “Yia Yia” would laugh her ass off and scream stuff, I guess, like “Go get ’em Tiger!” at who I think must have been, if I recall correctly, the likes of Bob Armstrong, among other legends. In fact, now that I’m grown and my fiancé’ Bill (whose Dad was Newark area wrestler “The Big Chief” in the early 1950s) has gotten me, “Miss Peace and Love” into watching the shenanigans out of the “WWE” I would actually give anything to remember just who in the world else my Grandmother and Mr. Holmes used to watch.

A lot of the Charleston area newspapers are probably on “microfiche”-still the handbills or flyers from this area are not too easy to find. Considering my Grandmother passed away in the mid 1980s, unless I hold a “séance,” cannot ask her who some of the legends were. I do think that I recall her mentioning Bob Armstrong though. As far as “local wrestling,” a lot of them came out of the circuit that was in Tennessee.

As far as getting intrigued with modern era wrestling it certainly took me a while.

My mother, a dancer, appreciated the “Greco-Roman” wrestling of the “Olympics” but was not too impressed with the antics of what we know now as “Pro Wrestling.” Although, she really respected the strength of Buddy Baer in his day and at one point she and her first husband Bill were neighbors of Antonino Rocca or “Rocco the Argentinian” on the West Side of NY. “Rocco” was a really nice guy she said. He would get out in the street with the “hardhats” and jokingly have a go at using their jackhammers. (Sadly, “Rocco” died at age 49 in Roosevelt Hospital of a urinary infection in 1977.)

Angelina Altishin AKA “Little Egypt” in the ring.

Angelina Altishin – AKA “Little Egypt” in the ring at “G.L.O.W”

As far as more recent female wrestling, I have not gotten into the clips from the “Sable” era-in fact-Stacy Kiebler on “Dancing with the Stars” several years ago was all I was exposed to. The gals in the 80’s were sexy like Wendy Richter (and also most of the women in “Glow-Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling,” the campy TV show which ran from 1986-1989 and featured acts with fun and provocative names like “Sally the Farmer’s Daughter,” “Palestina,” and “Spanish Red”) and if they ain’t inspiration for a good work out or two at the gym or the dance studio I don’t know what is-yet it seemed the latter era got a little more racy with “novelty” acts stripping down to thongs in front of crowds including kids. The girls now are sexy, and in good shape, but don’t seem to cross over into the “Adult Realm” as they seemed to do for a while.

Politically “incorrect” persona and name, the “G.L.O.W.” wrestler “Palestina” in a rather culturally insensitive time.

As far as “Adult Realm,” I guess the biggest shock was the Joanie Laurer foray into hardcore porn and then her death at a young age from an overdose of drugs and alcohol. “Chyna” as she was known, seemed to represent the unbearable tragedy that can come about from a very competitive lifestyle in a tough and sometimes “unforgiving” business.

I swooned over “Rowdy Roddy Piper” in a couple of movies he made and found myself missing the 1980’s and the way we all used to look and maybe the last era where we really worshiped the “charismatic” male.

Roddy Piper and Meg Foster in John Carpenter’s “They Live” (1988)

My favorites from today are entertaining to me because they have a certain “Golden Age of Hollywood” quality like Roman Reigns (The “Second Coming” of Victor Mature), or Dean Ambrose with another “Quasi Hero” quality straight out of the James Dean/Marlon Brando “playbook,”- or are straight out full of laughs like “The New Day” tag team.

“Pro Wrestling,” and all it’s idiosyncrasies, is the epitome of a “guilty pleasure.” How long I stay interested in something I couldn’t do myself if my life depended on it-I don’t know. Just know that now I oft think of a quote by someone-not sure who-who said, “The people who like Pro Wrestling are either fools or geniuses.”

I’d like to think I belong to the “geniuses!”

Pet LED Collars from Gemfire Stores. Link to store below.

Wrestling Fashionista: Costume Looks from the Past to the Present

By Aziza Al-Tawil

Whether it’s Chris Jericho and his “scarves” (which Braun Strowman so unceremoniously tore in strips recently!) to Naomi and her neon “glow in the dark” spandex outfits, wrestling has been an exciting “arena” of styles for a long time. Years ago there was “Gorgeous George” and his “primpin” then there was “The Godfather” and his “Pimpin.” There’s a special place in my heart for ole “Rowdy Roddy Piper” and his “kilt. “

“Jungle,” “Tiki,” and “Tribal” looks have been around in different forms since the old days. “Leopard Print” bathing suits/costumes on lady wrestlers (Like “The Fabulous Moolah”) back in the 1950’s (and on male wrestlers like Enzo Amore who touts the “Gucci” look also), to Bone Necklaces on “Matilda the Hun” and leis and tropical prints on “Mountain Fiji” only lent more “mystery” to these amazing tough gals.

Penny Banner Wrestler

In fact the “exotica” look has certainly not been reserved for women. “The Ultimate Warrior” and “Papa Shango” come to mind right away. Nods to “Natives” would certainly be “Kamala the Ugandan Giant” and the many incarnations of Indian Head Dresses that have shown themselves over the years including “Chief Jay Strongbow.”

Chief Jay Strongbow

Representing the Middle East we had Hossein Khosrow Ali Vaziri, also known as “The Iron Sheik” and before him, “The Original Sheik” (Ed Farhat from Michigan) known first as simply “The Sheik,” and a poster that looks to be from the 1940’s or 1950’s says a “Laurence of Arabia” is going to appear at “The Hollywood Legion.”

1968 Issue of Wrestling World featuring “The Sheik” Ed Farhat and “Abdullah Farouk”- the “alter ego” of his “Jewish” manager Ernie Roth. Roth would also manage “Mr Fuji,” “The Iron Sheik” and a roster of others.

One of my favorite eras is the 1980’s-I guess I’m sentimental about my childhood years-and the neon spandex look with it’s “Girl’s Just Wanna Have Fun” vibe. In fact, how appropriate is it that Cyndi Lauper actually wound up managing Wendi Richter during the inaugural “Wrestlemania?” The neon spandex has made a comeback with the exception of one thing: In the 1980’s you had a lot of “High Cut” bathing suit looks and now the women’s wrestling seems dominated by “Boy Leg Short” looks.

The beautiful Angelina Altishin (“Little Egypt”) making her entrance on “G.L.O.W.”

It’s also in the 1980’s that a lovely Turkish and Italian belly dancer was a wrestler on “Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling” AKA “G.L.O.W.” Angelina Altishin actually entered the arena belly dancing and it’s cool to see the audience, some wearing ball caps, try to dance with her the “sinewy moves” of her alter ego “Little Egypt.” Her costumes often had a skirt but once in the ring she did her thing in “Harem Pants!”

The beautiful Angelina Altishin (“Little Egypt”) making her entrance on “G.L.O.W.”

So after so many conflicts in the last generation including the devastating events of 9/11, who carries a torch for the belly dancer look in wrestling these days?

Non other than former body builder and wrestler Melissa Coates who, after a knee injury, decided to manage “Sabu” and follow in the footsteps of his Uncle Ed Farhat’s habit of having a female “valet” dressed in “harem regalia.” Melissa Coates these days is known as “The Super Genie” and performs on tour with him mostly around the UK. His style of wrestling is not for the faint of heart though-it’s “extreme” “hardcore” violent as he was trained by his uncle “The Sheik” who was known for bringing that into vogue

A very young looking Ed Farhat – “The Sheik.”

The handsome, talented Dolph Ziggler has recently created an uproar by doing a series wherein he lampoons the “gimmicks and costumes” used by his contemporaries. However, it may be a long time before crowds will want to give up the kind of exciting imagery and accessories that go along with the crazy world of “pro wrestling.”

From the Vedas to the Present: The History of Indians in Wrestling

By Aziza Al-Tawil

In today’s crop of American “Pro Wrestling” Indian and Pakistani, we have Jinder Mahal, “The Bollywood Boyz”-Gurv and Harv Sihra who are now Jinder’s “posse” and call themselves “The Singh Brothers,” “Prince Mustapha Ali,” and of course, “The Great Khali.”

Jinder Mahal flanked by “The Singh Brothers”

Yet, if we take a look, it would blow your mind just how far back the sport of wrestling goes in that region of Asia. The form of wrestling known as “Malla-Yuddha” is thought to have been practiced in South Asia as far back as the 5th Millennium BC. It is thought to be the precursor of what they call “Kushti” now and predates the invasion of the Aryans. “Turko-Mongolian” descendants, the Central Asian “Mughals” conquered Northern India in the 16th Century bringing into the picture their style of wrestling which had roots in Mongolian and Iranian (Persian) style wrestling. (In fact there is no shortage today of Middle Eastern and Iranian origin wrestlers here in the United States including Araiya Daivari (Iranian), Seth Rollins, (Armenian), Sami Zayn (Syrian), Noam Dar (Israeli), Rusev (Bulgarian), and, if the rumor is true, the adorable Bayley is part Armenian!).

As far as the “Vedas,” wrestling is indeed mentioned in the “Mahabharata.” My personal interest in the “Vedas” came from childhood exposure to the “Hare Krishnas” in NYC taking the free “Back to Godhead” magazines they handed out and sampling the delicious vegetarian food they served from carts just like hot dogs. In fact, when I read that the royal sponsors of ancient Indian wrestling made sure to treat their “warriors” of “grappling” with “milk, pulses, sugar, and delicious sweets,” I was not surprised as that tactic seemed to work well for the Swami Praphupada building the “Hare Krishna Movement” based on luring sad, addicted youth to the pleasures of the “non-narcotic” dessert “Gulabjuman.”

He had called the deep fried donut balls that were soaked in rose water syrup “Iskcon Bullets” as they were so effective in preventing the troubled youths from the outside “malaise” of the “Hippie Era.” (Over the years, I truly loved the “Hare Krishna” vegetarian food served in other cities too like Boston, but, not being a “joiner” by nature I was never quite moved enough to go join a commune! To quote the great Cole Porter, “Don’t Fence Me In!”

Of course, special exercise regimens were used to keep the athletes fit as well, what with all that “Gulabjamun!.”

During the “Colonial Period” wrestling was a favorite spectator sport of the “Rajputs” in Punjab. (Both Jinder Mahal and The Great Khali hail from Punjabi backgrounds. Mahal’s family being of the “Sikh” religion and Khali’s of “Hinduism” respectively). At one point, being wrestlers was encouraged to help prepare for attempts to free themselves of British rule.

In the last couple of hundred years we saw the rise of the “Great Gama” class of wrestlers in India and what is now known as Pakistan. We’ve seen the continuation and growth of tournaments and participation in the modern “Olympics” era.

I could go into more specifics about the wrestling history of this region but it’s so vast you might do better to do some more in-depth research on your own. For me, I’ll keep watching the matches and eating those yummy Indian desserts!

If anyone would like to help support Egyptian Chick Magazine please donate at paypal address : freeazizanow@aol.com. Any amount is appreciated but we are hoping to raise a few thousand to upgrade the site and have expanded capabilities in reporting and publishing. Thank you.

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Letter from the Editor:

When I first conceived this magazine and named it, I remember thinking that I wanted it to be for the woman who is very eclectic in taste, very intellectual, and very interested in the vast mysteries of our universe. The kind of lady that shows her interest in the world through her own personal style with clothing and jewelry perhaps, and is the kind of person that travels or would if she could, to exotic ports of call. She’s also the kind of woman that gets excited when they say they have found a new tomb in Egypt or is outraged and disappointed to hear that pollution is destroying the “Parthenon.” She loves a good “ancient mystery” too.

Having said that, I can think of no better person to profile this month than the late Jan Gallione, “belly dance enthusiast,” searcher of “Eastern Philosophies,” preserver of “Indian Burial Mounds,” and acclaimed artist in her own right. I hope everyone enjoys my memories of Jan. What readers may also be struck by was the “love story” between she and her husband the British Artist Adrian Frost and the tenderness between them on the journey of their “self expression.” April is “National Poetry Month” and that is also apropos as Jan and Adrian were always “poets” as well as “artists.”

I’m also happy to share a few smiles from “Team Egyptian Chick Magazine” at the 8th Annual Bowl-A-Thon for the New Hope Animal Rescue Chapter in WV. Included is a link so concerned individuals can donate ” even now.

Aziza Al-Tawil “Editor in Chief”

Billy Jack Watkins, “Research Assistant to the Editor”

Josephine Homonai, “Fashion Consultant and Model”

Contact azizaaltawil@gmail.com

“The Body Electric” – Remembering the Artist and Friend Jan Gallione

By Aziza Al-Tawil (Article was amended on April 8th by this Author. I had another wonderful memory to share!)

I will never forget that day on 57th Street in Manhattan when my belly dance pupil and friend Jan Gallione came up out of the subway there by the Coliseum Bookstore and rushed toward me with concern. I believe I was wearing vintage clothing that day. I had loved MGM musicals and had spent the last couple of years as a member of the Carnegie Hall Cinema and had let this carry over into my private life-taken to wearing bobby socks and saddle shoes, cute retro dresses and a sailor hat-not a soft folder upper type sailor hat but one made of straw that stayed in one shape.

This sweet young woman, about 9 years my senior, placed fifty dollars in my soon to be 14 year old hands and hugged me. She had responded when I told her that my mother and I were leaving New York City in a hurry as my mother’s battle with a recent bout of “Narcolepsy” sleeping sickness had abated and her bid to “Home School” me was now a lost cause as far as her bitter foe the “New York City School System” was concerned. My grandmother had sent us six hundred or so dollars for train tickets and to ship the contents of our small studio apartment to Charleston, WV. We were broke. Jan’s fifty was much needed. That smile of hers was welcome as well!

Looking back, I realize that Jan and I were standing in the “heart” of NYC, the neighborhood that I grew up in and held dear. Right there we stood at the corner of Broadway and 57th St. and not too far away was Mariella’s Pizza Place, The Carnegie Hall Cinema, the Museum of Modern Art, The Bombay Cinema, The Donnell Library-so many places that I used to hang out. It was just unfathomable to me that in just a few short days-or perhaps hours, I would be leaving my birthplace and home for good and leaving behind my good friend Jan.

Jan and I went into the Coliseum Bookstore to look around a little. She went to one section and I to another. In my sadness I picked out one souvenir of New York, something so I would never forget where I came from: The softcover edition of “The Films of John Garfield.” Then we met outside where we waved to each other goodbye as Jan descended into the NYC subway clad in a jacket over an “India” blouse and blue jeans which was about her signature look during the time I knew her. I turned and hurried back home-“West” on Fifty Seventh Street to our apartment building, “The Henry Hudson Hotel.” I would see the last of my sunsets over New Jersey.

When my mother and her husband arrived to live in NYC permanently in 1955, just ahead of them, having made the move a year or two before, was their fellow dancer friend from Charleston, WV Doris Rose. Doris had been in the Helen Cox Schrader dance troupe with Bill and Johanna and had been a part of an adagio team herself. A former strong man bodybuilder who was not too much of a dancer was her partner, hoisting her high in the air. Doris was a beautiful girl of French and Indian extraction who was from up the “Coal River” in WV. One time the entire Schrader troupe had performed a piece called “Jungle Drums” and everyone had worn leopard print outfits. They dubbed Doris “The Wild Woman of Coal River” with her dark snappy eyes and dark hair. Doris was a wonderful dancer but unfortunately had an early start to a problem with her hearing that grew gradually worse over the years.

By the time Bill and Johanna arrived to NYC, Doris was pursuing a modeling career and was dating an Englishman named Michael. They all had a joyous re-union and then oft were off to see “the sights” together like Broadway, museums and “The Cloisters.” Unfortunately, Doris, despite her great beauty and figure, was a trifle short for “high fashion” modeling which even then was a bit reserved for fairly tall women and Doris was more “medium” height. She did model on some “Detective” magazines as the glamorous woman in peril screaming at an unseen “assailant” (Doris herself was “assailed” one time when a strange man ran up behind her coming up out of the subway but managed to get away-like many women of West Virginia, she was not only beautiful but strong).

Not too long after Bill and Johanna moved to NYC as their permanent residence, Doris met lawyer John Gallione and married him. She still had creative pursuits and interests but was now mostly “settled down” and together they had three daughters: Gail, Jan, and Joy. Gail had an interest in the “performing arts” and Jan had an interest in the “visual arts” primarily.

Doris posed for her daughter Jan Gallione for this colorful painting.

I remember getting to know my mother’s old dance friend Doris during my childhood. She was still married to John and still living in the East Village. Doris was a very spiritual person at that time having gotten heavily into “yoga” and going to “Ashram Retreats” in the mountains. In fact it was Dori Gallione that had introduced us to a new sensation called frozen yogurt (at least it was new to us!). We used to meet for lunch all over town, have a cottage cheese and fruit plate at one of the department store cafes like “Bergdorf Goodman” or “Gimbels,” and of course there were trips to “The Village” to a “Vegetarian Fast Food” joint. Dori in fact would have been a vegetarian like the “Yogis” recommended if it weren’t for her hubby I recall her telling us. All the yoga and her past dance experience gave Dori her slim and strong physique which was often in a jumpsuit with a drape over top like something out of “Halston’s” latest collection. She was always stunning and tan and healthy looking for her age.

Jan had just finished “The High School of Art and Design” and had a few years under her belt at “Fashion Institute of Technology” when she decided to take belly dance classes from my mother Johanna and I when we were living at “The Henry Hudson Hotel.” This was a truly fun time because we had been holding classes on the 24th floor roof when the weather permitted-and sometimes when not! I can remember my “earth mother” Johanna getting excited by impending storms and continuing to dance on the roof terrace even as the skies darkened, the wind whipped, and the rain came tumbling down. Then, with great exuberance she would finally return inside the hotel hallway laughing for joy.

Jan was a true delight from the minute she showed up at our studio apartment there at the “Henry Hudson.” As I said, Jan liked “India print” cottons, and also wore sandals a lot. This was a divine period in NYC history when you could buy neat things from street vendors like colorful “wrap skirts” from India and “Mary Janes” and “Annie Hall” shoes from China. The city had a special vibe at this time, even though in reality, the city was just not the same glorious city that old friends Doris, Johanna, and Bill had moved to in the 1950’s. Back then, New York was overall very safe, and very classy. Jan and I were growing up in an era that was to be known as very “dicey.”

I was mature for my age at about twelve so Jan almost felt like a “peer” and treated me more like one. When she wasn’t at our apartment or on the roof taking lessons, she and I would sometimes meet up and go to cultural events when my mother was too busy with her other work to go. I remember one time Jan and I went to support the new “Alpar Center” in Manhattan opened by Farhat and Alexandria Alpar and Ozel Turkbas. It was a special show of Northern Indian dances by Najma Ayashah. Najma was a striking and beautiful performer, filled with incredible grace. One of her dances represented the Northern Indian “Gypsy” and she used a tambourine. Her outfit, if I recall correctly had white, hot pink, and green throughout. She wore a head veil.

Najmah Ayashah, Indian Dancer

I have a funny memory of running into Jan at the “Carnegie Hall Cinema” where I was a member. She was on a date with someone and we cried out to each other before the lights went down and the movie “Arthur” with Dudley Moore and Liza Minnelli began. I remember that the movie was turned up too loud and that, coupled with his accent, I could not understand hardly one word Dudley Moore uttered as the drunken millionaire!

Another time I remember Jan’s excitement at the impending “Simon and Garfunkel Reunion Concert” which she and her friends were going to attend in Central Park and that I was disappointed when I could not really “invite” myself to this historic event. (My mother and I had attended many free performances of the Metropolitan Opera in “The Sheep Meadow” and I wondered why this would be any different.) This was the one time that our age difference seemed to matter. While I was good friends with Jan, and my mother and I were both mentoring her belly dance journey, I was still too young to run around at night with Jan and her friends from the Fashion Institute of Technology). I would not see the famous concert until PBS aired it about 20 years later!

Belly dancing was getting to be a sparse affair at that time in New York since “Greektown” on 8th Avenue had shut down completely leaving only a couple of places in a few spots around the city’s boroughs to perform. Jan had gotten me a modeling gig for her and fellow “Art Students League Students.” I posed in my red bugle beaded costume and some of the artists had showings in SoHo that included the painting of me. It was interesting to see how different artists perceived me.

Jan and her graduating class also held a Middle Eastern Fashion Show and Performance with my mother Johanna and I at the Fashion Institute of Technology. Jan took some striking black and white photos of me in costume.

After months on and off of private tutoring Jan in the art of belly dance it would come to pass that I would never see her again. The sad day she brought me money and went down into the subway was the last time we would ever see each other.

Actually, Jan’s generosity, and her mother’s as well, was nothing new. West Virginia folk are used to sharing “hand me downs” as they know kids grow “like weeds” and it’s hard to keep up with the demand. When Jan brought me clothes from she and her two sisters one time I was so excited I could barely contain myself. They were beautiful! One dress I dubbed my “Leslie Caron Dress.” I loved old movies and had loved the dancer Leslie Caron’s films including my favorite “Daddy Long Legs” with Fred Astaire. The dress Jan gave me was white with a halter neck and had a matching bolero jacket. All over the dress were little pastel embroidered flowers. The skirt was full and straight out of the 1950’s. I wore it with one of my hats and a pair of vintage glove when I used to go to Fifth Avenue to “window shop” and pretend to be a “grand lady” of yesterday.

After moving to West Virginia to be near my grandmother, I wrote a letter to Jan. Several months later I received a reply in the form of a postcard from where she was staying in England to further her studies. She mentioned how glad she was we had gotten to dance together.

My mother attempted to reach out to Doris a few times years later and was not sure why she did not get a response except that Doris was extremely hard of hearing.

The real reason my mother could not reach Doris would not be explained for many, many years.

In the era of “Facebook” it’s sometimes hard to remember that there was a time when people lost touch-perhaps because of moving around the U.S.A. or perhaps even further afield. Trying to find people if their phone was “unlisted” was nearly impossible, or if you didn’t know what city they were in, etc. Between my mother and I being in show business and taking off for new cities within just a few years of being in Charleston and Jan being an artist-the inevitable happened. I did think of Jan on and off through the years and wondered if our paths would ever cross again.

After the “age of the internet” I found out firsthand the “miraculous” re-unions that could occur thanks to this technology. I found a “half-sister” through my father that I did not even know existed. Sadly, she had been put up for adoption by a grief stricken woman with a “shamed” family who insisted she give her child away and years later, initially had her files opened for “medical reasons.” Since my sister Renee’ was also fascinated with knowing her real identity she had pursued more info through the years culminating in a post on a mutual friend’s “guest book” (a musician who knew my father) and I saw her post there while looking for something else entirely. Since she said who her father was I contacted her immediately. After e:mails and calling each other for a year, we finally met.

We had three joyous “in-person” meetings until one week I noticed she did not answer my e:mails as quickly as she usually did. Then, about a week later, her fiance’ Terry called me and said that they had been in a car wreck and that he had survived but Renee’ had been killed. He told me she was the “love” of his “life” and that he figured he “get over it one day” but didn’t know “when.” He said that the accident occurred because she had wanted more tropical fish for her aquarium and that he had tried to tell her they should stay home, but she insisted, and that on the way back they had hit “black ice.” He told me, “I thought you should know.”

I contacted her adopted family and they were understandably upset. The fact that Terry and my sister had engaged now and then in some serious arguments fueled their suspicion of him and his role in her death. While I was not there I honestly believed it was an “accident”-he had seemed to love her very much when they had visited, so I prayed for everyone concerned and my mother and I started on a very dark period of grief over the loss of this half sister of mine who was in my life for just a short time (2006-2008) but was indeed a “gift.”

As for Jan Gallione, I looked for even a trace of her on the internet now that it was taking off as a “people finder.” Strangely enough, I was not finding anything and perhaps was not savvy enough as a “researcher” to think of “googling” names of her known relatives.

After starting this magazine in April of 2016 I became interested once more in finding the truth about Jan’s whereabouts because I was featuring an “Artist of the Month” now and then and was hoping to feature her as “thanks” for the past kindness she had shown myself and my late mother who passed away in 2012. One initial clue disturbed me: I found the “New York Times” obituary of her father John Gallione in 2000, but when it listed his family “survivors” she was not among them. She was referred to as “the late Jan Gallione.” I was completely floored- knowing she was not that old-wondered if it had been that horrendous taker of female lives “Breast Cancer”-not a clue-and could find no mention of what was responsible for her death.

Heartbroken, I set about finding out what happened to my friend. By now there were some more clues available. One notice posted with a couple of her paintings stated that she had been “A wonderful artist who was winning awards, showing in very prominent galleries, and invited to important artist residencies. She had an exciting and promising future as an artist which unfortunately did not get to play out with her untimely death at age 34.”

It also mentioned that her work had been shown at the Fendrick Gallery in NYC (records at the Smithsonian Museum of Art) and that she had residencies at Yaddo, The MacDowell Colony, The Millay Colony for the Arts Awards, National Academy of Design Annual Exhibition (1985), and that she was the winner of the “Julius Hallgarten Prize for a painting done in the United States by an American Artist under 35 years of age.”

Invitation to Jan Gallione’s Graduation Piece from UC Davis 1989

Digging deeper, I found a list of her fellow graduates at “UC Davis” where she had received her “Master of Fine Arts” in 1989, several years after I last laid eyes on her. In fact, I still did not know, when and how she passed. I made a few connections with some of her former classmates. Shelby Harris, still an artist today, said he remembered Jan as “A lively girl!” and that she had married a visiting professor named Adrian Frost (This info fit in with why I saw a mention of both Jan and Frost listed together on works that are archived by “The Smithsonian Institution.”) Shelby Harris told me she died in a car accident but did not know exactly where. Another classmate, artist April Funcke, encouraged me to continue my search and her note also explained to me that Jan and her husband, the artist Adrian Frost, had been in a car accident together and that Jan had perished while her husband survived. She told me to be sure that when I found him, to “Tell Adrian that April said hello.”

This stunning bit of information hit me like a bolt. It resonated completely with me because of what happened to my sister and Terry. I immediately felt a kinship with Adrian Frost. I felt I had an understanding of what it had been like for him to have been “the one who survived.”

I familiarized myself now with Mr. Frost and his work, watching a 2012 performance of his “Memphis Blues” presentation that is on “YouTube.” I also found a wonderful clip called “More Memphis Blues” that featured a wonderful modern dancer Tamara Jonason interpreting “physically” Frost’s art and poetry. I also saw a clip of Adrian interacting with the art loving public at a Eureka Springs Art colony in another YouTube clip. “The Memphis Blues” series is one of Frost’s odes to the “Heartland” of America-a journey I would eventually find out that had once included my lost friend Jan. Quotes from “Old Man River” intersperse with song and his own original poetry. Adrian Frost is actually a “performance artist”-a phenomena that often includes music, spoken word, dance, and visual art.

Artist Adrian Frost, 2017

Struck immediately by the handsomeness of Mr. Frost, an Englishman for sure, yet with a touch perhaps of the “English Gypsy,” the type of Englishman that have the heavy, “Tyrone Poweresque” eyebrows that smack of the “Black Irish”-the eyebrows Liz Taylor got from her father-they hint at romances of “ladies” with “traveling” men or perhaps even those Spaniard invaders of the 1600’s. No matter, I could understand my Jan’s fascination with this unique and talented person.

Knowing what happened to Adrian and Jan though, I found myself holding back from contacting him. I was overwhelmed with the similarity to what had happened to my sister. I was waiting for a “right time” when I felt I could say something to him that would not hurt him somehow. I had a bit of fear of hurting this man-thinking I was ripping off the band aid or scab that had formed to get him through the rest of his life. I truly had to think it through. Then one day, after a few months, I decided to make the connection.

Mr. Frost turned out to be a delight. He was actually thrilled to hear from me and the apprehension that had vexed me was for naught. Through subsequent e-mails from him I was able to fill in some blanks about Jan’s life after our parting on 57th Street. Jan had followed up on her interest in belly dancing with actually going to live with “Bedouins” in the desert. In other words, she had traveled the world. Jan had met and married Adrian while at “UC Davis” and they had embarked on an interesting but sometimes hardship filled life together as they were not oft in one spot too long either due to the nature of Frost’s residencies at various schools around the country.

Photograph of Jan Beaver Gallione with a snake. The photograph here is part of a collage tribute by Adrian Frost to his late wife.

I was also thrilled to find out that my “Cherokee Sister” Jan had actually gone back to her roots and involved herself in the preservation of Indian Burial Mounds ( The Ho-Chunk Nation and their famous “Effigy Mounds” in Wisconsin) and had been on “Vision Quests.” I had remembered that her mother “Dori” was Cherokee like my own mother and it seemed apropos that she would become taken with “Native American” concerns long after leaving the “Big Apple” behind. Ironically, my mother and I were on a spiritual trip to the Cherokee reservation in North Carolina along about the time Jan was in nearby Asheville according to resumes and “itinery” Frost sent me and we didn’t know it.

I was a late comer to the film “Fame” which was a sensation around the time I was around Jan the most. I only just saw it for the first time in the last few years. The song “The Body Electric” from that film brought tears to my eyes and even though Jan had graduated from the “High School of Art and Design” and not the “High School of the Performing Arts” (I believe her sister Gail did though) the movie and the song took me back to what it was like to be in New York City when art could still thrive and the city was still mostly an affordable place to live. I felt that Jan’s had indeed been “The Body Electric”-that woman that Walt Whitman sang the praises of in “Leaves of Grass.” “The Body Electric “as a term has also been borrowed by author Ray Bradbury.

Jan Gallione had initially been a part of the “European School of Art” when I knew her. Adrian Frost, the son of Sir Terry Frost, literally hailed from a family of artists, his brother Anthony also following in their famous father’s footsteps. Sir Terry Frost was a famed “Abstract Expressionist” from England. Adrian’s style is more of a “Post Dada” modern art with strong usage of “collage themes” and written and spoken word. Jan’s graduation piece from “UC Davis,” called “The Labors of Clementine” with a thread of that famous song running throughout, literally “brought the house down” when she performed it. She was embracing a type of art that was very American at this point-in other words-she had “evolved.”

In 1994, Jan Gallione was the same age as my sister at the time of her death and their birthdays were just a few days apart. Both strong willed Aries women they usually did what they wanted to-admirable in many cases and sometimes dangerous in others-they forged their own paths and destinies.

To Adrian, Jan was like a Cherokee Princess, something to adore as if a childhood dream came true. Therefore, when moving to Arizona, and she, “with child,” at the time, asked to turn around and return to Wisconsin and her unfinished projects with the burial mounds, Adrian accepted her request after trying to reason with her about the bad weather failed.

I finally knew the truth about what happened to Jan Gallione. Like my sister, her life ended on a stretch of highway, Jan’s in a snowstorm near Council Bluff’s, Iowa and my Renee’s in Southern Indiana on post “Valentine Day” black ice.

As a child, I would cry uncontrollably when hearing the song “My Darling Clementine.” My mother would say, “But it’s a funny song! It’s not meant to be sad. It’s not real.” Even though my mother tried to point out to me that it was “satire” I would cry out “No it isn’t. Clementine is real! She’s dead Mommy!”

Portion of a poem Adrian Frost wrote for his late wife Jan Gallione.

The search for Jan held many spiritual and psychic qualities for me. Even my friend Liza DeCamp, proprietress of “Magnet Queen” in Tennessee, got caught up in the excitement. She did not know Jan but graduated the High School of Art and Design” a few years after Jan did and was able to find her yearbook photos and info for us.

Currently, Adrian Frost is working on an art film series in collaboration with Ada Athorp called “Furies” (a modern day take on ancient Greek heroines). He is proof that the “artist” must continue to seek inspiration and passion on the journey of life.

In fact, as long as there are artists like Adrian, Jan, and of course myself, seeking new inspiration in every day, I know in my heart that the “Body Electric” will never really “die”-but the “soul,” the real “spark,” will live on.

By Aziza Al-Tawil

Sunday, April 2nd, was indeed a joyous day for the staff of “Egyptian Chick Magazine.” Thanks to “Town N Country Lanes” in Nitro, WV and Karen Maes for organizing the event. Thanks to Lee and Jerry for playing with us. Billy Jack Watkins, our research assistant, had not been bowling in 30 years but still did us proud! I had not been bowling in about ten years and this was only about my fourth time total doing it! I was also not so bad “considering!” Met a darling “Black and Tan Coon Hound Mix” named “Pugsley.” He was a real sweetheart and I hope he finds a home. Check out the photos from our fun day and if you would like to donate to them please go to this link New Hope Animal Rescue West Virginia Chapter Donation Page

Connie Robertson is enjoying a cuddle with “Pugsley.”

The crowd was getting geared up to help animals at “Town N Country Lanes” Nitro, WV.

Billy Jack Watkins feeling satisfied with his game.

Your Editor, Aziza Al-Tawil, having a blast with the new purple tee shirt.

The pretty gift baskets in the “Raffle.”

Your editor, Aziza Al-Tawil, enjoying the heck out of “Pugsley.”

The crowd at “Town N Country Lanes” in Nitro, WV are showing their best for the “New Hope Animal Rescue 8th Annual Bowl-a-Thon.”

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“Moon River”: Memories of Nejma and Her Crochet Costume, Toronto 1962

By Aziza Al-Tawil

My mother had very fond memories of performing in Toronto, Canada in the Summer of 1962. She remembered the timing well because she had only been belly dancing since the previous Winter, and the Henry Mancini theme song to “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” could be heard almost any time of day on radio stations up there. Many nights, putting on make-up in the dressing room and getting her costume on was accompanied by the refrain “Moon River wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style some day…”

Also, appearing with Johanna at the Westover Hotel was an amiable and memorable dancer named Nejma who shared the bill with her. It used to be the custom that performers in show business exchanged publicity photos when they worked together. This time was no different but was made even more special by the fact that my mother got three amazing shots of Nejma in a truly exotic and fabulous costume that was primarily crochet. My mother Johanna said the costume was Turkish made but whether it has the crochet beading on it I cannot see from the photos. That is an entire technique in itself, but either way the costume is brilliant.

Nejma Belly Dancer 1960’s

Her chosen photographer for “publicity” appears to be a “Gary Amo” of Detroit.

Nejma Belly Dancer 1960’s

Sam Wagman of the “Toronto Merry Go Round called the girls “the two sparkling new authentic dancers” at “The Westover Hotel” which was being managed by a guy named Joe Gollub. Nejma was called “Queen of the Harem” and Johanna was called “Petite Johanna-the Darling of the East.

Belly Dancer Mystery of the Month

by Aziza Al-Tawil

Thanks to my fiancé’ Billy Jack Watkins finding it on “YouTube” I got to see a mystery belly dancer in the opening credits of the 1974 William Shatner flick “Impulse.” The music was divine, very Anatolian, and the dancer was in a nightclub that seemed to have a multi-tier seating arrangement. I investigated the film further and found out it was primarily filmed around Tampa, FL and the nightclub scene was at “Bartke’s Dinner Theater” on S.R. 60 so not sure if some dancers from that area at this time in history might recognize the place. The dancer is listed on IMDB as Paula Dimitrouleas and sadly this is the only credit listed for her. Would be curious to know if she worked mostly in belly dancing and whatever happened to her. By the way, despite some naysayers, I believe the role of a very mentally deranged killer who had a traumatic experience as a child is one of Shatner’s greatest acting performances. Check it out.

Dabke Around the World: Same Dance-Different Variations

By Aziza Al-Tawil

Never forget the time I was playing the flute and my mother was drumming at an outdoor festival in Charleston, WV and a bunch of people started doing Dabke together. Or, I should say, were “trying” to do Dabke line dance together. The fact of the matter is, just like the teacher here mentions, they were from different countries and therefore had different ways of doing it. At one point all these young people stopped and laughed and asked each other what their respective countries of origin are. The answers varied from Iraq to Syria to Jordan to Saudi Arabia. It was quite interesting. They laughed about their differences but never really got the dance together. (My father and mother actually used to do a very old style Syrian Dabke you don’t see much any more). The teacher here seems very experienced and you can probably learn a lot from Dabke 101:Learn How to Dance Dabke.

There’s a deadly pandemic that’s completely rampant right now, and if you wash your clothes with detergent.. you’re likely affected.

If you care about your family, your children, and your longevity please drop what you’re doing right now and watch this video..

We’re very happy to announce that Dr. Artsvi Bakhchinyan and the State Museum of Lit and Art has published their book “Armenians in World Choreography” and has included our “Editor-In-Chief” Aziza Al-Tawil among the top performer/choreographers in the Middle Eastern Dance field who hail from Armenian blood. More details soon about where you can get a copy that includes the bios of famous dancers from many genres including ballet and modern. Aziza is proud to be included with other dancers in history of the likes of Tamara Toumanova, Leon Danielian, and others.

Contact azizaaltawil@gmail.com

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Esma Redzepova is Gone!:

By Aziza Al-Tawil

I’m very sad to report that “The Queen of the Gypsies,” Esma Redzepova has passed away at age 73. She was born in Skopje, Macedonia, when it was part of Bulgaria, started singing at ten years old and went on to represent her people and their songs to the world including command performances for various world leaders. She and her husband, bandleader and manager Stevo Teodosievski, fostered 47 children.

Ezma Redzepova

A wonderful CD called ” Gypsy Carpet” is available at Amazon (Click title for details). I was listening to this and am particularly fond of the song “Bistergan Man” (“You Forgot About Me”). I made a “YouTube” video when I heard the news, remembered another favorite song of mine she performed “Sastalise Tsigane”- a song which I heard many renditions of growing up in the Greek Tavernas which were truly an international scene.